ON THE GRASSHOPPER AND THE CRICKET - William Strode Poems

ON THE GRASSHOPPER AND THE CRICKETThe poetry of earth is never dead: When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide in cooling trees, a voice will runFrom hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead;That is the Grasshopper's -- he takes the lead In summer luxury -- he has never done With his delights; for when tired out with funHe rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.The poetry of earth is ceasing never: On a lone winter evening, when the frost Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrillsThe Cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever, And seems to one in drowsiness half lost, The Grasshopper's among some grassy hills.